


Things That Should Not Happen To Marines: Lost in Kentucky

by Pashalawa



Series: Things That Should Not Happen To Marines [1]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M, Multi, OT3, Polyamory, Ray's Rude Mouth RRM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25595473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pashalawa/pseuds/Pashalawa
Summary: "No, no. They were not lost. Being lost in the continental United States was an impossibility, and three highly capable US Recon Marines would not, under any circumstances, be considered lost on this backwoods road in the middle of the night."Ray is grouchy, Nate never wants to look at another map again, and Brad will not admit defeat for fear of insult to his warrior spirit.
Relationships: Brad Colbert/Nate Fick/Ray Person
Series: Things That Should Not Happen To Marines [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918840
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Things That Should Not Happen To Marines: Lost in Kentucky

**Author's Note:**

> In which I aggressively attempt to fit in as many iconic quotes and references as I can. 
> 
> Based on character interpretations as portrayed in the series 'Generation Kill'. Not meant to be reflective of the actual boys out there livin' their lives and doin' their best. Hats off.
> 
> Spoiler Alert: IDK what I'm doing, it should become rapidly apparent. 
> 
> Rated T for general Generation Kill language, which is, as you all know...a lot. There's not much of it.

If you asked Brad they were absolutely _not_ lost. 

(But they were lost.)

It was a truth that Brad was unwilling to consider. No, no. They were not lost. Being lost in the continental United States was an impossibility, and three highly capable US Recon Marines would not, under any circumstances, be considered _lost_ on this backwoods road in the middle of the night.

In fact, they were so far into ‘precisely nowhere, USA’ that the service didn’t seem to be working anymore. Brad couldn’t even get a valid connection on his phone, and thanks to Ray he hadn’t brought his larger GPS coordinator. That would surely be a point he’d grind into Ray's back later, no doubt. No need for the coordinator, Ray? Oh, traveling in a first world country, were they? Brad grumbled incoherently as he pulled the old folded maps from his bag. 

According to said maps, they were...lost. But what did the map know? It had spent the past millennium folded up in the dash, it needed a little air, it needed to be _coaxed_. As he opened it up and tried to follow the myriad of roads to where they’d last been, Ray slammed something at the front of the car. 

“Careful, we don’t own this and I didn’t get the insurance,” Brad barked, and for a second he was jarred back to Iraq, a specific instance when Ray had been the one to lose his cool all over the fussy humvee axle. Even Ray’s face as he leered from behind the raised front hood of the car was just as it had been, down to the narrowed eyes and the pouty sneer. 

Why Ray insisted on trying to fix the car, he had no idea. Sure, they’d both gotten their fair share of relative vehicle expertise on deployment, and Ray seemed to pick up a lot of mechanical skills startlingly fast. But now Ray’s happiness seemed to be intrinsically tied to the ability of this vehicle—something that was waning more and more by the minute. “It’s not my fault she’s being such a fickle, unyielding bitch,” Ray said, and Brad watching him wipe at his cheek and leave behind a streak of grease. At the very least, Brad could take comfort in the fact that some things never changed. The day Ray’s face ceased to be a multi-purpose floor mop would be the same day the world ended. 

While Ray played the role of grouchy service mechanic, Nate had been the one to wander down the road in search of a patch of signal to make a call. The cool blast of air Brad caught when Nate opened the driver’s door would have made him shiver if he hadn’t been prepared for it. He’d seen Nate walking up with his easy loping gait as he finished the phone call he’d been making—the good news, it looked like he managed to find service.

“I called AAA,” Nate said, sliding into the driver’s seat. Brad’s eyes flipped up from the wildly unfolded map contraption he had in his lap to catch Nate’s gaze—and _ah_ , that was _not_ the face of a man who had confirmed a swift exfil. “The service was spotty, and this road has _no_ indication of a name, but they assured me that they could locate us with the information provided.” Nate looked at Brad with that exhausted green stare, and before he even got the words out, Brad was sighing and turning his attention back to the maps. “I’m assured of this.” 

“He better not have said what I think he said,” Ray shouted, and Brad cracked the smallest of grins as he watched Nate try to hide his own smile. “You _know_ every time he says that shit ends up even more fucked than before. Nate’s just raw dogged us, now not only are we gonna be lost, but a roaming band of degenerate hillbillies are gonna come up, strip our vehicle, and take us back to their swamp house for a ritual cannibalization.” 

“Ray, I had no idea your family was around here, why didn’t you tell us,” Brad mused, eyes still stuck scanning the maps for any sign of the road they were on. They had followed the signs, so either someone had gone through the extensive effort of putting up fake signage, or this area wasn’t even on the map. From the front of the car, Ray’s mirthless ‘ha ha ha, very funny’ caused his lips to purse. It wasn’t a good sign when Ray’s humor started to run dry. Clearly the car repairs were going _less_ than swimmingly. 

After another few moments, Brad dropped the map down to stare out the windshield. All he could see was the hood of the car, raised as Ray bent over on the other side to yank and inspect the innards of the rental. And because he could _feel_ Nate’s eyes on him, he stayed looking straight ahead. Unfortunately, despite all his efforts and the complete improbability that this could happen, he was ready to face the _possibility_ that they _could_ be lost. “This is an affront to my warrior spirit.”

The fond snort that came out of Nate’s nose was hard to ignore. Brad finally glanced over to him. He’d spent months watching Nate go from upbeat to worn down, but now he looked...almost peaceful. “I’m genuinely sorry to hear that,” Nate said, and then they both laughed in that hushed way that they never really got over after all that time sharing stolen moments leaning on humvees and ducking through windows. 

“You want to try?” Brad said, tilting the maps in an offering. They’d spent a good few months with their heads tipped over, fingers tracing over Iraqi highways under the guiding light of Nate’s red scope.

But Nate did not seem as willing to dip a toe into _that_ particular nostalgia. “Nope,” Nate’s nose scrunched as he shook his head, and this time Brad laughed loudly enough to catch Ray’s attention, who nipped at them both that they were ‘not allowed to enjoy themselves while he slaved over a hot engine’. But Nate didn’t seem to pay him any mind, and instead he tapped the map twice with his finger. “I sure don’t. I have had a lifetime of scouring over maps, and I think if Brad Colbert can’t figure it out then there isn’t much hope for me.” 

Fair enough. Brad tilted his head to the side, a silent agreement, and dragged his thumb over Nate’s wrist. The Iraq maps had been, at the very least, recent. They’d been tracked to the best of the United States’ ability, and even though they’d missed a lot of the smaller villages and unpaved roads, Brad had to admit that at this point, he had better luck with _those_ maps. Not to mention his Blue Force Tracker. His guiding light. His child. His pride and joy. “Alternatives?” He asked, after a beat more of staring at the freeway line they’d gotten off of nearly two hours ago. 

“I think if you haven’t figured it out, then we’re probably going to have to hope you and Ray can fix the car. Or we’ll do the next best thing and head back to the motel we passed a few miles ago.” Nate seemed unmoved by either of these options, but it seemed like the only choices they had left. 

Both of them were, to put it lightly, shitty options. Number one, they wait in the car until someone drove by or until AAA found them. Number two, they walked back the way they came for about an hour and some change until they crossed the motel. Each number was a waste of time and would involve untold amounts of Ray’s bitching and Brad’s slowly dying warrior spirit. “Undignified,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly as he tapped his finger to the edge of the map.

“Maybe,” Nate agreed, still in high enough spirits to quirk Brad’s smile up a touch. He was still learning Nate. He had years of Ray under his belt, enough to anticipate most of his moods. Ray was a perfected science, and Nate still had a few surprises in him. Like now, when he leaned in for a quick kiss, Brad barely had enough time to turn and catch his lips. “I’ll go see if I can help him,” Nate said, still close enough to his face that Brad could feel the feather light movements of his mouth before he pulled away, hand on the car door handle. 

“Continue at your own risk,” Brad said, still determined to make heads or tails of this map, especially now that the _options_ had been laid out. How was it that they managed to navigate through Iraq with ancient maps and _Encino Man_ but got lost in bumblefuck Kentucky? “He’s pissy.”

“Yeah, I know,” Nate conceded, and Brad watched as his mouth twisted to take on an expression he knew very well (and had grown very fond of). It was the familiar look of Nate trying to maintain his poker face, and he was normally very good at it. Right now, he was failing. The smile broke out in a crooked smirk. “At least he’s not under the car,” Nate teased, and despite the fact that he didn’t want Nate to get away with _that_ little reminder, Brad couldn’t hold back the small grin as he squeezed his thigh on his way out. 

He spent about five more minutes fussing with the maps, right up until Ray’s voice got that shrill, ripped fuel quality and Nate poked his head around the front of the car in a quiet but very clear plead for back up. 

“I mean, what the fuck is going on at Enterprise? Is it just some fucking failed state behind closed doors it’s just full fury road and Mad Max is back there jamming parts from different cars into each other to make the ultimate off-road vehicle because this is basically one fat ass liability on wheels—” Ray didn’t even seem to pause for breath when Brad got out of the car. He didn’t look up, didn’t peel himself out of the car. “Brad, I hope you didn’t pay a lot for this because I’d pay more for dumpster pizza eaten off Helen Mirren’s dusty twat, which, by the way, she's doing great and I really liked her in—Nate! The light! You can aim out of a crusted-over humvee bumping over dead bodies in some bombed out village but you can’t aim a flashlight?”

“Seems like he’s in a great mood,” Brad said, mustering up that fake cheer that he _knew_ got Ray riled up. Usually the playful gibbing was enough to hoist Ray back into a good mood, but the look Brad got in response was a clear indication that he was towing a fine line. Okay. Diffusion then. He leaned over to try and see what Ray was looking at and settled his hand on the back of Ray’s neck. Ah, he didn’t immediately swat Brad away. A good sign. 

“As always,” Nate teased, and Brad almost braced for a return snap from Ray—but Nate had a gentle way about him. Not always, of course. He’d seen Nate talk down far more imposing beasts than Ray. He’d been there when he rejected the Captain’s orders, he’d been there when he gave that plumber that was trying to rip them off the low down. But right now, even his ribbing was gentle, as much as a balm as Brad’s touch. He caught Nate’s eye again over Ray’s head, and even in the dim lighting only mirrored back from the flashlight aimed to the car he could catch the brightness of his smile—

“You better not be having any gay eye conversations over my head right now,” Ray said, finally pushing up from the car. He wiped his nose on his arm and then shook his head, dirty fingers gripping the edge of the front rim. Brad watched Nate press a hand to the small of Ray’s back as he flashed the light playfully in his face. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Nate said, and for a minute Brad thought Ray would take the bait and grab the flashlight out of Nate’s hands to blind him in return...but he didn’t. Instead Ray hummed lowly and dipped back down into the engine. Nate sighed and gave Brad another look—only this one was far less fond and was essentially screaming in large, bold font: **get Ray out of this car.**

Yeah. Ray definitely needed to get out of that car. God knows the fumes he was inhaling, and he’d spent the past eight hours driving down the highway. “Let me try,” Brad said. A pair of fresh eyes couldn’t hurt anyway, and Brad wanted to give it a go before they ended up throwing in the towel and trekking to the motel. The first time Brad abandoned a car, and it was in rural Kentucky? The irony was enough to bring tears to the eyes. 

Ray stiffened, and Brad retracted his hand from his neck just before Ray reached to swat him away. “Oh, be my fucking guest, Bradley,” he snapped, a heavy emphasis on _Bradley_. For the first time in what must have been about forty-five minutes now, Ray stalked away from the front of the car, set on storming past the both of them and getting back in the car. 

It had been a while since he’d seen Ray this level of _bitch_. Usually he was more than happy to let him correct himself on his own, which Ray nearly almost always did. He was unique in that way—Brad had lost count how many times he’d set Ray off and by the time he was ready to apologize, Ray was over it. 

... _and_ sometimes he wasn’t. Sometimes it took a hefty plate of an apology and a really dedicated blow job to woo him back. And as charming as that sounded, Brad was not in the mood to have caused _two_ problems tonight. 

“Okay, easy.” He held out an arm and blocked Ray from his swift retreat. While Nate set to closing up the front hood, replacing all the caps and wires that Ray had pulled out of place, Brad hooked his arm around Ray’s waist. “You should have let me drive for a while,” he said, low and deep in his throat. He knew Ray liked that. He knew that because Ray told him he did. He was not one to hold back on his thoughts, which put Brad at the advantage of knowing exactly how to make his partner melt.

For a minute, he didn’t think it would work. But then Ray settled back on his heels, and his dark, steady gaze looked up at him. “Yeah, well, then we would be in the same exact position only we’d have three more speeding tickets and Nate would have had some kind of aneurysm along the way. So I think all things considered I still ended up with the best possible outcome.” 

He was tired. Brad could see it clearer now. Ray’s argument was plain, clean, and devoid of his normal extravagant flair. That needed to be rectified immediately. Brad couldn’t have Ray out here making sensible, coherent arguments. He’d never win a fight again. “Yeah, maybe, but your whiskey tango sister-fucking baked beans out of a can ass would have had a nap and you wouldn’t be being the biggest bitch right now,” Brad said, and backed Ray up until he was pressed against the passenger side door. This time his tease landed, and Brad reached up to dig his knuckle into Ray’s right dimple as he smiled. The superior one, obviously. He leaned in to deliver his last line. “And you’ve got shit all over your face.”

“Yeah, yeah. You like it,” Ray answered. His wide, open grin had returned even if it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Nothing a good sleep and a six egg breakfast wouldn’t fix, Brad figured. Honestly, Brad had never seen anyone able to consume the amount of eggs that Ray could go through. He’d witnessed the man go through a verifiable mountain of scrambled eggs with ketchup, clearly the food of his ancestors. 

Brad almost answered him with another long string of insults and taunts, but his _stupid_ egg reminder had softened him up. Somewhere along the line, his life had gone very awry, and he’d ended up actually _attracted_ to a man who thought cheese in a can was on par with _actual_ artisanal brie. “I do,” he admitted. He settled his hands on Ray’s narrow hips and bent down to catch his lips. This close, he could smell the auto grease, but that was a smell Brad had grown to like. It reminded him of open roads and the rumble of an accelerating engine. “Against all better judgement and common sense, it would appear that you’ve somehow crossed the wires between disgusting and charming. It’s a modern miracle, really, they should study it in medical texts.”

Ray kissed him back like he always did, strong and passionate and a little hard. Then he pulled away and kicked at Brad’s knee. “You love me,” he taunted, which was essentially the Ray version of ‘I love you too’, and Brad rolled his eyes but nodded regardless. He stepped back to make room for Nate as he stepped up, dusting off his hands by brushing them together.

“So what are we doing,” he asked, and Ray reached out to take the flashlight out of Nate’s hands. He flashed it right into Nate’s face, blinding him momentarily before he dropped the light and reached forward to tweak his nose. That was a Ray apology, likely for being a raging ass moments earlier, and Nate took it in stride. 

“How far back was the motel again?” Ray rubbed his eyes and then dragged his hands down his face. He only succeeded in further smearing the grease. When Nate told him the approximate mileage, he groaned and knocked the back of his head on the car. “We could just sleep in the car. It’s fine, not like we all aren’t intimately fuckin’ acquainted with car naps. Besides this bitch has way more leg room. But—I _do_ call the backseat. So fuck you both.” 

God, did he _not_ want to sleep in this car. Civilian life had a few perks, and Brad considered a _bed_ to be one of them. It was further insult to his warrior spirit if he ended up so _beaten_ by this break down in Kentucky that he had to sleep in the vehicle. But beyond that fact, Brad had a few alterations to make to Ray’s plan itself. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he said, “You’re the smallest. You should take the driver’s spot. It has the least room but that wouldn’t bother you, because you’re the size of a prepubescent teen.” 

Ray scoffed so loudly it was more of a squawk than anything. Brad watched him look to Nate for back up, but Nate held up his hands and took a step back to symbolize his Switzerland position. “This is discriminatory,” Ray started, hand up with one finger pointed out. Brad knew that finger. It was his ‘I have a point to make and I’m going to make it in a five-step presentation’ finger. “It’s not my fault your giant viking ass can’t be contained by the modern size restrictions of society. Also, _I_ am not that short. You’re just giant. Nate, tell him he’s giant. That’s an indisputable fact. He’s like a Tolkein elf.” 

Brad was about to launch into his threat that should Ray ever call him some gay fuckin’ _elf_ again he’d be sleeping in the trunk, but he didn’t get the chance. Nate pressed the palm of his hand to Brad’s upper arm and shook his head. “Apt descriptions aside, I don’t know that sleeping here would solve the problem. We need to call a tow, I think we should walk back. We’ll either find service or the motel first.” 

Undignified. But that’s where they were, at this point. The walk wasn’t so bad—it would actually be welcome after spending so long cramped up in the car, and the weather wasn’t so cold that they couldn’t handle it. He met Nate’s eye and smiled at the expression he saw. He’d spent so long watching Nate on the edge of a full breakdown, it was incomparably nice to have him like this now: almost optimistic about this midnight motel trek. “It’s a _legitimate_ recon mission,” Nate teased, and Brad knocked his head gently while Ray rolled his eyes. 

“Legitimate mission my ass,” Ray started, and Brad moved to the trunk of the car to put together a go bag. There was no reason to carry all of their things with them. He’d take what they needed—the toiletries, maybe one change of clothes. Really, Brad was fine with what he was wearing...he didn’t really need to bring anything extra. As he unzipped suitcases and rifled through their belongings, Ray continued. “I’ll go. But only if you carry me bridal style the whole way.” Brad peered over the trunk to raise his eyebrow at Ray, but Nate was laughing. Emboldened by the response, Ray continued. Brad knew Nate’s laugh got him going—it was a mutual admiration. “And then when we get there you gotta kick in the door and drop me on the bed and ravish me.” 

Brad grabbed a few boxers and shirts from the suitcases. He wasn’t entirely sure whose was whose anymore, but he figured it didn’t matter much. “Ray, I believe you have a future career in amateur porn scripting,” Brad commented. Although, really, he’d like to see that. Over the trunk, Brad held up a pair of jeans to Nate, and Nate shrugged one shoulder. Brad packed it anyway. Might as well, he had space available in the duffle and he’d rather be prepared. 

“I have a future as a professional porn _star_ , thank you,” Ray said, and then Brad pulled out an extra jacket for their _professional porn star_ , because he had the foresight to know that after about ten minutes of walking, Ray would be freezing. “You think that pays a lot? Like, you think it pays more than being a bartender?” 

Nate was leaning over into the car, digging something out of the backseat. He came back out with a few water bottles and a bag of chips that Ray hadn’t mowed through yet and put them in the bag Brad was packing. “You got it?” Nate asked, hand over Brad’s as he looked over the trunk. Nate, the master of warm and gentle touches, squeezed his hand as Brad nodded an affirmative and then spun to Ray. “You’re not going to be a porn star.”

Some time between Nate coming to the trunk, Ray must have gotten his sunglasses from the front seat. Those ridiculous, _ridiculous_ shades sat nicely on his nose, no doubt making him just as blind as the shitty NVGs had. “Jealous?” He taunted, and his eyebrows danced suggestively over the specs. 

“Consistently,” Nate answered. Brad saw the familiar curve of Nate’s lips and before either of them could react, he’d swept Ray easily off his feet with a flourish that belonged at the end of a long-suffering romantic comedy. Ray cursed, a quick ‘oh fuck’ before he realized what Nate was doing. Then he was laughing, and Brad didn’t bother holding his own laugh back as Ray’s head lolled back in a very dramatic fashion, like a rescued damsel. 

“Oh my stars and garters, thank God you’ve come. I’ve been waiting to be rescued by some ivy-league polo-wearing bitch my whole life, what would I do without you and your cocksucker lips, Nathanial,” Ray said, full swoon, one leg extended out like a ballerina as the back of his hand rest against his forehead. 

Brad shook his head and hiked the rearranged duffle bag over his shoulder. “You’re encouraging him,” he called to Nate, and Ray shot him the bird over Nate’s shoulder. It lost a bit of its bite when it was followed up with big puckered lips and an audible ‘air smooch’ toward Brad. At least Ray’s mood seemed to rebound now that he wasn’t bent over into the engine anymore. 

But his free ride didn’t last much longer. Nate dropped him back down to the ground and Ray attached to his side like a limpet, dragging along as he slopped kisses to his neck. “How do I unencourage, again?” Nate asked, turning halfway around, eyebrows raised in a familiar arch. Brad only smiled and tilted his head, the body language equivalent of ‘you’re on your own, buddy’. 

Even if it was a lie. 

Even if they were _lost_. 

Plain Undignified. 


End file.
